In the Shadows
by CJS-DEPPendent
Summary: A prequel-of-sorts to Royal Secrets. In San Francisco, things changed for the Queen and her Head of Security. After decades of pretending and denying, is she too scared to let go? Is he? C/J. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: **__I do not own the Princess Diaries (book or film), it's characters, or anything remotely related to it except for two DVDs and a couple of books. I make no profit from this story._

_**A/N: **__Well, a few weeks ago I mentioned in an A/N for Royal Secrets that I was working on this side-story. It is, in a way, a prequel to Royal Secrets, in as much as it follows C/J through everything that happened in San Francisco, and is my take on how their relationship evolved. It is set in the same 'universe' as Royal Secrets, meaning that their history is the same in this story as it is there. That's not to say that you won't understand what is going on if you haven't read RS, but if you have, you may have a deeper understanding of what they are going through._

_Since my last chapter for RS was so unacceptably short, I have decided to post this now and give you a little CJ interaction (something I know has been missing in RS … there will be some! Eventually … I promise!)._

_I will continue to update both stories as I quickly as I can get through studying and type them up._

_(Side-note: Italics indicate flashbacks)_

_**I hope you enjoy this new story, and please review and let me know what you think:**_

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><p>"Morning, Charlotte," Joseph greeted Her Majesty's assistant as he approached the limousine parked at the palace steps, his bag swung over a shoulder as he moved to place it in the trunk.<p>

"Joe," she nodded in reply and he immediately noted the concerned tone to her voice.

"What's wrong?" he asked from over the open trunk as he found a place for his bag in the midst of what looked to be the queen's entire wardrobe packed in suitcases.

Charlotte smiled weakly – she should have known that Joseph would pick up on her concern, "I, well …" she wasn't sure how much she should say – it wasn't exactly her place.

Understanding immediately, Joe looked around for the one person who was obviously missing, "where is she?" he asked, concern now evident in his tone, too.

Sighing, Charlotte looked up to the palace, "in the throne room, I …"

Giving his friend a reassuring smile, Joe began to make his way up the steps, "don't worry, I've got it."

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><p>Clarisse was lost in the image before her – she'd lost track of how long she'd been standing there.<p>

At first she'd come to see Philippe. By the end of the day, she would be in America and in less than 24 hours, she would meet her granddaughter – Philippe's only child. How she wished he could have been there, could have seen his daughter again after the years they'd been apart.

But fate was cruel. If everything went well in San Francisco, she would gain a granddaughter – but it hurt tremendously that she had had to lose a son first.

And that was when her eyes had fallen on her eldest son, painted beside his brother, dressed in his royal uniform, portrayed as Crown Prince mere months before he'd abdicated – her Pierre. As things stood at present, he was her only family – her baby had been killed, her husband was dead and her granddaughter knew nothing of her existence.

Looking at the portrait, she looked into her surviving son's eyes and her chest immediately tightened – the blue which had been so aptly captured by the artist's brush was all too familiar. And as she stood mesmerized by the memories she refused to acknowledge, she heard a soft sound as someone cleared their throat by the doors.

Clarisse did not need to turn around to know who had interrupted her thoughts. For over 36 years she'd been attuned to his mere presence, as if her body and mind could sense his proximity even at a distance.

Letting her eyes drop from Pierre's image, she turned slowly, steeling herself – it would not do for her face and eyes to betray what she had buried for almost as long as she'd known him.

"Am I late?" She asked with an apologetic smile as Joseph began walking towards her.

"Not very," he smiled reassuringly as he came to stand beside her, his eyes drifting up to the portrait of the Princes and, then, momentarily falling on the portrait of his Queen standing with her husband. How he had loved the young woman in that picture – how he still loved her.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, knowing Charlotte was probably close to panicking, "I was just …"

Tearing his eyes away from the cerulean eyes staring at him from the portrait and refocusing on the same eyes of the woman standing beside him, he smiled again, "I know."

She looked as uncertain then as she had the night before when she'd revealed to him how apprehensive she was about their trip to America.

-.-

_They sat on the sofa in her personal sitting room, several papers strewn on the coffee table before them as Joseph sipped a tepid cup of coffee and Clarisse held her cup of tea in two hands, somehow hoping the small warmth it provided would help with how cold she felt inside._

_For the past 45 minutes, they had gone over all the plans that had been drawn up for their journey and stay in America – security protocols, staff changes, flight times, car routes, scheduled meetings and requests for audiences …_

_Clarisse knew she should focus on what was being said – knew Joseph, Charlotte and countless others had worked extremely hard to organize everything to perfection. Yet, somehow, she couldn't quite focus. _

_Every time she read something that had been planned with her granddaughter in mind, her heart seemed to beat a little too fast – what if she wanted nothing to do with her? What if she point blank refused to accept her role? What would become of Genovia without an heir?_

_What would become of her without a family?_

_As always, she could feel Joseph's eyes subtly following her every move; she knew he knew she was concerned, but he would not mention it – not unless she did first._

_She wanted to mention it – wanted her friend to reassure her that everything would go well. But at the same time, she was scared. It was ridiculous. Joseph had been her best friend and confidant for the better part of 36 years, three months ago she would not have hesitated to go to him with her troubles, three months ago she would have gladly sought his opinion. Three months ago, however, she'd had a husband; three months ago there had been a very tangible safety barrier – a veritable wall of china – between them._

_Now, she wasn't sure how to behave._

_It wasn't that she did not trust him, nor had he given her any indication that anything had changed between them. As far as she knew, he was still steadily on the path they'd agreed upon all those years ago; still prepared to follow one step behind her, unquestioningly and indefinitely. _

_Would things become strained if they spoke openly as they always had? Would he want more that she was prepared to give? Would she?_

"_Your tea must be cold," Joseph had broken into her thoughts, "would you like me to get you some more?"_

_Looking up from the now cool cup, she had nodded, handing it to him and watching as he'd stood from the sofa and crossed the room to her tea set._

_She knew his silence over the past however-many minutes was just one more indication of his patience – he knew she needed time; needed his patience. How could she not trust him?_

_The calm, encouraging look in his eyes as he'd stood before her, handing her the cup of steaming tea was her undoing – she needed his support; she'd relied on it too long to do without it entirely._

"_What if this doesn't work," she'd asked in a small voice, her eyes on the golden liquid before her as he'd taken a seat beside her, retrieving his own cup from the coffee table and looking into it as he thought._

_They painted an odd picture, her sitting at one end of the sofa, dressed in white from head to toe, her cup held firmly between two hands on her lap as she studied the steam swirling from it, him leaning on his knees as he pondered her question, his eyes on what remained of his coffee as he swirled it around his mug._

_Then, turning his lead to look at her, his elbows still on his knees, he smiled, "it will," he said simply, and she almost looked exasperated – blind optimism was not what she needed. "She will surely be surprised," he continued looking serious but reassuring, "and she _is_ a teenaged girl, so she may react negatively at first," he added with a small grin, "but I'm sure it will all work itself out."_

"_How can you be so sure?" she asked, wanting to understand why he never doubted, and how he somehow always took away any doubt she had._

"_Because," he replied leaning back and turning more fully towards her, "Amelia is your granddaughter, and will surely love you for that alone," he smiled, "and because Charlotte will be there, and I promise to be there every step of the way, and we will help in any way we can," he reassured._

"_And if you're wrong?" she asked, her voice still small – she sounded like a scared child._

"_Well," he conceded, looking around the room for a moment as he thought, "then we will just have to find another solution," he smiled, "we've come this far," he added, referring to the attempts certain members of parliament had made to force her to abdicate after the King's death and to place someone of their choosing on the throne, "I'm sure we'll work through anything else that is thrown at us," he grinned, "even the wrath of a teenaged girl."_

"_Don't you ever doubt?" she asked him as if awed, her smile telling him he'd succeeded in allaying her fears – even if only temporarily._

_Sitting a little straighter – a stalling mechanism he'd learnt over the years to keep himself from reaching out her – he shook his head with a reassuring smile, "oh, I doubt!" he grinned, "I doubt cook's ability to ever remember how you despise peas, I doubt Charlotte's ability to live one day without a schedule," she was smiling now, "I doubt Leonard's ability to not get lost each and every time we travel to Pairs, and I doubt my ability to keep up with you when you storm towards parliament ready to tear each member to pieces," he grinned again – she was a force to be reckoned with. "But," he continued turning serious again, "I never doubt _you_," he gave her a small smile before standing, "_you_ can do anything you set your mind to."_

_Smiling openly, Clarisse thanked her courage for having allowed her to open up to him – he somehow always knew what to say to make her feel better._

_Standing, Joseph felt a little more in control – it had been some time since they'd spent this long alone together. He was very confident where his ability to control himself was concerned – but even he had his limits._

"_Now," he turned to her, "I do believe we have a flight to catch fairly early tomorrow morning," he smiled as she placed her tea on the table beside the sofa and stood as well, "I believe an early night may be in order."_

"_I believe you're right, and thank you," she nodded, "for always knowing what to say and for promising to be there with me," she smiled fondly at him, "it means a lot."_

_Straightening his back to increase the distance between them, even if only by an inch, he nodded, "I'll always be there," he nodded, "as long as you want me."_

_She didn't know how to reply – was this what she'd been afraid of? Was he referring to anything more than their quiet, supportive friendship? Was he …_

_Before she could dwell too long on her uncertainties, he lifted her hand to his lips for a brief kiss and bid her a good night._

_As she turned to her abandoned tea cup and took a long, calming sip, she sighed as she realized that he may have succeeded in assuaging her fears where Amelia was concerned, but he'd brought feelings and fears she'd buried deep down for years back to the surface._

_-.-_

"Are you alright?" he asked her as her eyes drifted up to the Princes again.

Nodding, she gave him a sad smile as her eyes remained focused on Prince Philippe, "I just wish he could have been here," her tone was so sad, it broke his heart. "It doesn't seem fair, that after everything he gave up, that I have a chance to know Amelia and he never did …"

He saw her eyes drifting over Prince Pierre's image, the sadness remaining, but somehow changing. She must be missing him, he assumed.

"I know," he replied softly, "but I'm also certain that Philippe would be very happy to know you _will_ have a relationship with Amelia," he smiled as she turned her eyes back to him.

"I'm scared," she said in the same small, frightened voice she'd used the previous night. It was unbearable to see her like this. It was bad enough to witness her mourn her son's death; to see so much more hurt and turmoil be hurled into her life and be unable to do anything was downright painful.

Reaching over, he took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. They didn't often touch – it was one of those unspoken rules they seemed to have settled upon long ago – but he hoped the small gesture would go some way to reassure her that everything would be alright.

Startled for only a moment, Clarisse looked down to where they made contact and smiled thankfully back up at him. It was remarkable how, even without words, he could give her the strength she needed, "thank you," she spoke softly.

Nodding in response, he released her hand and straightened his back – again, even that small extra distance was helpful – "we should probably go now, Your Majesty," that helped too, using her title – distance was good.

Smiling, she nodded in agreement, closing her cardigan across her chest as he began to turn towards the door.

With one last look up to the portrait of her son's, Clarisse followed after him, glad that he never noticed how much of the sadness in her eyes came from looking into her elder son's face.

**TBC**

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><p><em>Well, there it is. At first, this was meant to be a flashback within RS, but once it developed, it grew into a story in its own right and I thought it would be too difficult to write a flashback which, itself, contained flashbacks into the story. I hope you enjoyed that, there is more ready to be posted, and plenty still to be written.<em>

_Please let me know what you thought!_

_Thanks,_

_CJS-DEPPendent_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Disclaimer: **__I do not own the Princess Diaries (book or film), it's characters, or anything remotely related to it except for two DVDs and a couple of books. I make no profit from this story._

_**A/N: **__Hey guys! So here is the next instalment in this story – still on our way to San Francisco. As always, italics are flashbacks. I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for your reviews for the last chapter :) I will update this and RS ASAP._

_**I hope you enjoy this, and please review and let me know what you think:**_

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><p>Sitting at the back of the plane, Joseph watched as Clarisse alternated between reading the book she'd selected for the trip and looking out the window at the passing clouds.<p>

He knew this trip would be a tremendous step in her life – she would be gaining a little bit of the son she'd lost back, she'd be stepping out into the world again for the first time since his death, and she'd be fighting her corner, doing everything in her power to make Amelia accept her role and show those members of parliament who would doubt her just how great a queen she truly was.

He knew the queen would have no difficulty achieving her goals; but he was scared for his friend. He wasn't naïve enough to believe things with the teenager would go smoothly – there was a large chasm of difference between wanting to be a princess in a fairy-tale – something he was assured all little girls wanted – and becoming one in real life.

Just as he was sure the Queen would succeed in assuring an heir to the Genovian throne, he was certain that Clarisse – his friend – would have to go through hell in the process.

They'd been flying for over three hours and, by his calculations, she hadn't made it past the first chapter in her book. He knew she was preoccupied and wished he could somehow sooth her, but there was nothing he could do.

He knew where things stood. He'd known where things _had_ to stand for the past 36 years. When they were alone, they were best friends; any other feelings aside, they had always been the best of friends and the security briefings which took place almost every evening gave him the chance to keep an eye on her – to make sure she was alright. However when in public, the Queen was untouchable and he could do nothing but sink into the shadows and hope she made it from security briefing to security briefing without too much pain and difficulty.

Therefore, as the flight attendants moved about the cabin and Charlotte sat in front of the queen making notes on her schedule, he forced himself to sit in his seat and remain in the shadows even as he witnessed the worry displayed in her every move.

"Your Majesty," one of the flight attendants – Joy, he thought – addressed Clarisse as her partner disappeared behind the curtain towards the cockpit, "if there is nothing else, we will prepare the meals, now," she smiled and when Clarisse gave her a soft smile and 'thank you' in response, went the same way as the other young woman.

Barely a beat passed before Clarisse looked up to Charlotte, "Charlotte, I'm sorry," she never liked bothering people, even if it was their job to tend to her, "but do you think you could…"

Nodding, already out of her seat, Charlotte completed her sentence, "remind the attendants that despite Chef's orders you would prefer not to have capers in your salad," she smiled as Clarisse nodded in thanks, and went after the attendants.

Joseph could swear the pressure suddenly increased in the cabin – and he was sure it had nothing to do with how high they were flying. As soon as Charlotte had left, the worry he'd been able to see, even if no one else had, became evident on her face as she turned to look out the window, her hand unconsciously raising to where her chest and neck met. He couldn't help but feel pleased that she was able to let go of her mask and simply be herself in his presence.

Just as he convinced himself to stay exactly where he was unless she called for him, the plane dipped and swayed a little – he would barely have registered the turbulence if Clarisse hadn't let out a startled gasp and looked up towards him in fright.

Immediately he was out of his seat and moving to her side – he knew he'd made the right move when Clarisse's expression visibly relaxed as he approached.

The moment he sat down beside her, the plane shook once more and, again, she looked alarmed as her eyes swept the cabin before landing on him.

Wordlessly, he reached across to her lap and took her hand, giving it a supportive squeeze as her eyes closed and she visibly relaxed, leaning slightly back into her seat. He couldn't help but smile as she reopened her eyes, a soft, thankful smile taking over her features as their eyes met.

For a few brief moments they sat there, eyes locked and hands clasped together, but all too soon, the sound of Charlotte returning to the main cabin forced Joseph to relocate to the seat in front of Clarisse, leaving the seat beside her vacant and her hand laying on her lap.

"It won't be a problem," Charlotte smiled as she took the seat beside Joseph, "lunch should be served within fifteen minutes. Did you need something," she then asked Joseph as if just realizing he was there.

Shaking his head, Joseph replied so smoothly that even Clarisse almost believed his professional tone, "her Majesty was alarmed at the turbulence," he explained, "I came to offer assistance while you were gone," he smiled and Charlotte accepted his words without question, "I really should be getting back…"

"Nonsense," Clarisse found herself saying, "lunch is about to be served, there is no need for you to eat alone," much as he had, she said it in a tone so casual and professional that no one could even raise an eyebrow in question at the invitation.

Inwardly sighing in relief, Joseph nodded, "thank you, your Majesty," and, with a small smile which he was sure only she could have understood, he buckled his seatbelt and turned to listen to Charlotte as she went through some paperwork with the queen.

As they awaited the arrival of their lunch, Joseph couldn't help but notice Clarisse's left hand – the one he'd held only minutes earlier – fidget, almost as if nervous. Now, Joseph knew that queens were _never_ nervous – at least not outwardly so. He also knew that what appeared to be fidgeting to the untrained eye was really an attempt to relieve the feeling of loss that he, too, had felt on drawing away from her.

In her seat, Clarisse's mind was reeling back to the night she knew the careful balance they'd created had shifted. It wasn't that anything had changed – nothing had, really – but something had shifted in as much as, before, where a friendly offer of comfort would have been just that, now, it left lingering questions and doubts which she couldn't seem to allay.

-.-

_She hadn't been in his arms for almost a year – the last time they'd been in this exact position, she'd been distraught over the death of her beloved Philippe. Now, they sat again in her suite, her head held tightly to his chest as his arms surrounded her, offering her what little comfort he could._

"_What will I do without him?" she asked between soft sobs, "he's my best friend," she shook her head against his chest and he tightened his hold on her._

"_I know," he whispered against her hair, his chin resting softly on her head hoping to assuage the blow of yet another loss._

_King Rupert had passed away that afternoon. Despite being older than his wife by eight years, at 64, King Rupert had appeared to be in perfect health – aside from an elevated cholesterol level, nothing had appeared off at his last check-up. Yet, that afternoon, he had climbed the palace steps with difficulty, after a particularly long session with parliament, and had collapsed in the foyer but a few steps from the doors. _

_A heart attack, they had later determined – unexpected, but fatal._

_Joseph had insisted on informing her – somehow he did not want her receiving that news from anyone else. The announcement of the King's passing might have been an official event, but it was not the place of a government official – nor even of the Prime Minister – to deliver that news to her. She did not need a cold, unfeeling, formal notice, she needed a friend._

_So he'd sat with her on the sofa and told her, calmly and gently, everything that had happened. Unlike a year earlier when the surgeon had informed her of Philippe's passing, she reacted quietly, her posture seeming to shrink back towards the couch, a hand over her mouth in shocked horror._

_He knew the tears would come. He knew how much Rupert meant to her – regardless of everything that may have been amiss in their marriage, they had always been partners; best friends. When they did come, her tears were soft, almost resigned._

_He'd reached out a hand to hold hers, a gentle squeeze indicating his unspoken support. Whether it had made the situation worse or merely given her the comfort needed to let go, Joseph did not know – nor did he have the time to question it as Clarisse's head fell towards his shoulder, her body rocking with sobs now._

_And so they sat there, his arms around her as she cried into his black shirt. They remained that way for a long time, Clarisse's sobs slowly subsiding as exhaustion took over, Joseph holding her tight, wishing that if he only held her tight enough nothing else would hurt her._

"_Perhaps you should try to get some rest?" he had suggested softly against her hair as she'd taken in a shuddered breath._

_Clarisse hadn't protested – after a year of mourning her son, she knew better than to fight the exhaustion of grief._

_Slowly, Joseph stood up, his hands reaching to hers to help pull her up from the sofa. Once standing, she finally looked up to him in thanks, a soft, sad smile gracing her lips, "thank you, Joseph."_

_He merely nodded gently in acknowledgement. He would normally have replied that she could always count on him –that he would always be there for her. But this was certainly not the time._

_Trying to take a deep breath and closing her eyes as it involuntarily shuddered into her lungs, Clarisse looked down to her hands, her wedding ring gleaming in the soft afternoon light, "my husband is dead," she said as if almost to herself, her eyes closing as tears threatened to spill over again. _

"_Try to sleep, Clarisse," he said softly, bringing her attention back to him. _

_Nodding, Clarisse turned to look to the double doors of her suite – she _was_ tired._

"_I'll be right outside if you need me," Joseph added as he gently motioned for her to step around the coffee table ahead of him._

"_Thank you," she said again in a small voice as they began to part ways, him to exit the suite, her towards her bedroom._

_Laying on top of her made bed, her head throbbing, her eyes prickling and her body exhausted, Clarisse never realized how every element of her carefully balanced life had shifted that afternoon. Outside the room, standing guard, Joseph, too, was unaware of how the past 36 years would now be put to the test. King Rupert had just passed away – those thoughts never even crossed their minds. But as the days passed and turned to weeks, then months, the very tangible ramifications of that day had made themselves known. Slowly, the soft sentence Clarisse had uttered in the midst of her grief had become almost an echo in the back of their minds – 'my husband is dead'._

_Clarisse's husband was dead. _

_King Rupert was gone, and with him went the carefully ordered constraints within which they'd learnt to exist since that afternoon 36 years earlier._

_-.-_

When, much later that day, the plane finally touched down at San Francisco International Airport, Charlotte quickly left to ensure everything was ready for the Queen and, after several minutes of waiting, she and the consulate's security staff on the ground gave them the all-clear to disembark.

As they made their way down the aisle, to the exit, Clarisse could practically feel Joseph standing behind.

Her thoughts during the flight had in no way helped to make her life easier. Whereas before she'd been concerned over meeting her granddaughter, now she was also preoccupied with feelings she had long-ago promised herself she would ignore.

Suddenly, she felt Joseph's breath against her neck and, just a step from exiting the airplane, froze.

Joseph had seen her tense posture as they made their way down the cabin to the exit – he knew she was letting her anxiety take hold again.

Taking the last opportunity they would have that day to be out of earshot and alone, his hands purposefully clasped behind his back – it would not do to let them rest on her sides, no matter how strong the urge might be – he leaned forwards.

"Take a deep breath," he said softly, "you can do this." He smiled as she, slowly, processed his words and did as he suggested.

The deep breath filling her with renewed courage, Clarisse stepped off the airplane and, Joseph only a step behind, made her way down the steps to the awaiting limousine. As long as he was behind her, everything would be alright.

**TBC**

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><p><em>I hope you enjoyed that, and please let me know what you thought!<em>

_Thanks,_

_CJS-DEPPendent_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Disclaimer: **__I do not own the Princess Diaries (book or film), it's characters, or anything remotely related to it except for two DVDs and a couple of books. I make no profit from this story._

_**A/N: **__Hello all! I know it's been a while since chapter 2, but my last exam took away any free time I had for writing and, on top of that, I'm finding this story is a bit more difficult to write than RS. This chapter is really quite long, but it made no sense to split it into two so, hey, bonus for you guys! :) It is set the evening after Mia runs off after meeting Clarisse. I hope you enjoy it! Thanks for your reviews for the last chapter :) I will update this and RS ASAP._

_**I hope you enjoy, and please review and let me know what you think:**_

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><p>"Your Majesty?" Joseph called as he knocked on the door to the Queen's office.<p>

"Come in," he heard her call softly, in that voice he'd long known to mean she was fully engrossed in what she was reading. As he walked in, he smiled to himself – she sat at her desk, her eyes skimming quickly over the pages of the Genovian ambassador's latest report. He knew better than to interrupt her.

For a few moments, he stood before her desk, his hands on the back of the visitor's chair, and watched her – he could never tire of simply looking at her, even if he had spent the better part of 40 years doing just that. The way her hair was always flawlessly set, framing her face to perfection, the way she looked, her reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose as her finger tips absently drummed an unconscious tempo on the dark wood of the desk…

He almost didn't realize it when she closed the dossier and removed her glasses, her shoulders relaxing marginally as she turned up to him expectantly.

"I have spoken with Edward," he began without skipping a beat – he never did. "He will serve as your chauffer and primary protection. He will be ready tomorrow at 7 to follow us to the Princess' home and will stay with you for the rest of our stay here."

That afternoon had been a disaster. Amelia was nothing close to what Clarisse had expected – she certainly was nothing close to what Genovia would expect of their princess. But all that would have easily been remedied with some instruction and attention to detail; what had truly been disastrous was her reaction to the news that she was the heir to the Genovian throne.

He had expected it, of course. He had known that in all likelihood the girl would not take the news well, but Clarisse had still held some hope that the teenager would be happy at the revelation.

When, that afternoon, Clarisse had asked for his help, he'd known better than to argue, firstly because one did not argue with the Queen and, secondly, because Clarisse very rarely asked for help – from anyone. He could not deny her when she did.

It certainly wasn't his job to babysit an angry fifteen-year-old, and under no circumstances did he enjoy leaving her security to someone else, but, as always, her wish was his command and he had agreed. So, while the queen had spent the past three hours poring over paperwork, he'd gone to make the necessary arrangements.

He trusted Edward – he wouldn't have asked him to travel with them to the US if he didn't. But, despite that fact, and despite the experience he no doubt had under his belt, Edward had, in Joseph's eyes, one crucial flaw where Clarisse's safety was concerned – he wasn't him. Still, she had asked that he protect her granddaughter and he would oblige.

"Do you still think it's too soon?" Clarisse asked a little unsure. Joseph hadn't been at all certain that visiting the princess the very next day was the best course of action when she had suggested it and, now, she, too, was beginning to fear that it might be too soon.

Motioning to the chair in front of him as if to ask for permission, Joseph watched as Clarisse stood from the desk and walked to the sofa, silently indicated for him to join her – something told him this meeting had shifted from a business discussion between the Queen and her Head of Security to a conversation between friends. Smiling and nodding in acknowledgement of her unspoken invitation, he followed her and silently joined her on the sofa as she placed her half-empty tea cup on the coffee table before them.

"So?" she restarted the conversation as she turned towards him.

Joseph nodded, more at the question than in response, "I believe she needs time to process everything, and I'm not sure she will have had that time by 7 am tomorrow," when she looked at a loss as to what to do, he quickly proceeded, "but perhaps you are right to address the issue again before too much time passes."

Clarisse quickly explained, "I just fear that if too much time is allowed to pass, she will make her decision without due consideration …"

Again, he nodded – teenagers did have a propensity for rash judgments and making momentous decisions in the heat of the moment, "you may be right," he conceded.

"But you weren't sure, earlier…" she questioned, trying to understand his reservation.

"No, I wasn't …" he tried to look reassuring, "I'm still not," she looked confused now, "I understand your argument, but I also fear that pushing too hard too soon may do more harm than good…"

"I had hoped Helen would contact me," she said a little resigned, "maybe then I would have a clearer understanding of what is going through the girl's mind…"

Smiling softly, Joseph nodded – he knew the relationship between Clarisse and Philippe's ex-wife was strained at best.

"Of course I understand her choice not to," Clarisse continued in a sad, soft voice, her eyes moving from him to the large windows of her office which overlooked the disaster the consulate called a garden, "every time I come into her life, I destroy it …" she shook her head sadly.

It had been one of the most painful things she had ever done, watching Philippe choose between his country and his family – it was an impossible choice; one _no one_ should ever have to make. But she'd known, better than most, that he had no choice – Pierre was set on abdicating, it was only a matter of time, and Genovia needed an heir. She had never, truly, felt any animosity towards Helen Thermopolis – she had only met her once, and even then, only briefly. But she understood why the younger woman held her responsible for the divorce and Philippe's absence from Amelia's life. After all, she had been the one standing beside her son, offering her support when he'd finally signed the papers and bid his wife and child goodbye – whether she had wanted it that way or not was irrelevant. She knew how it had appeared to Helen, and she did not blame her.

Truth be told, she would have happily watched her son and his wife move into the palace with their baby; she would have been elated to watch her granddaughter grow up in Genovia, to know her and to be a part of her life. But there was no way about it. Rupert, already sensing the decision Pierre would make, had been adamant that Philippe place his duty to his country first, and Helen had been equally adamant that she wanted nothing to do with court life – and Philippe, well, he'd been left with an impossible decision which, she knew all too well, would tear any parent apart.

"Hey," Joseph's soft voice broke into her thoughts and she only realized a silent tear had escaped the corner of her eye when she felt the soft skin of his knuckle wiping it away. It appeared her thoughts had taken a dangerous turn. She had long ago banned such thoughts from her mind, it would not do for them to resurface now – and certainly not in his presence.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, straightening her back and wiping her eyes as she took a deep breath and tried to smile, "that's all in the past, there's no point…"

"I know you didn't want it to be that way," he interrupted her, his eyes filled with a compassion that broke her heart, "I know you wanted Philippe to be happy…"

"There was no choice…" she said in a small voice, wanting him to understand.

"I know…" he gave her a soft smile as he, for the third time in as many days, took the hand which rested on her lap and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

His blue eyes on hers, Clarisse felt the words escape her lips once more, "I had no choice…" But this time, even if unconsciously, she knew she wasn't referring to Philippe and Helen's divorce.

"I know," he repeated again, raising his free hand to wipe away the last of her tears, "I understand…"

Closing her eyes against the tightness that rose in her chest, Clarisse turned back to the windows through which the sun had already set. How she hoped he did – that he would…

Hoping to bring her out of the fog of painful memories she was obviously immersed in, he returned to the matter at hand. "We'll go tomorrow," he smiled when she turned back towards him, the shadow lifting slightly from her eyes as she returned to the present.

"Are you sure? I don't want …"

He nodded, "I think you might be a better judge of what to do in this case than I. I'm sure you understand the girl better than I ever could…"

"Hm?" she queried softly, "how? I barely know the child…"

Smiling, he realized he was about to overstep _the_ line a little, but if it helped, then it should be alright. "Perhaps," he conceded before giving her a small grin, "but I once knew a confused nineteen year old who had a tendency to run off when upset," he smiled, "and I think perhaps _she_ might now how best to approach her granddaughter."

Clarisse's eyes shot up to his in surprise – they didn't often refer to those early days. Partly because it was too painful and partly because it was akin to treading over mine-riddled territory.

Smiling at her surprise, but proceeding without hesitation, he nodded, giving her hand another squeeze, "like that young woman, I'm sure Amelia will come around," he paused, "she reminds me of you," when Clarisse raised an incredulous eyebrow, he chuckled and nodded conceding the validity of her skepticism, "back then," he added.

"Oh…" Clarisse sighed looking around the office, trying to ease the feelings surging through her, "I don't…"

Joseph interrupted her before she could continue, "you'll see it…" he smiled.

"You haven't even met her yet," Clarisse tried to reason, "you can't have come to this conclusion from our conversation at tea alone…"

"But I can," he grinned, "she is as open, curious and spirited as you were back then, Clarisse…"

Again her eyes shot to his, not quite understanding what was happening – he was crossing a line; _the_ line. He hadn't called her by her name since the evening of Rupert's death and had only done so rarely before then. She didn't know what to make of this turn of events.

Once more, he continued without acknowledging the reason for her surprise, "you will recognize yourself in her, Clarisse, and, in time, she will surely recognize a bit of herself in you, too…"

"Joseph, I …" she shook her head, her eyes once again leaving his face to wander over her office – whether to alleviate the building tension or search for an out, she wasn't sure.

"If you feel it will help – If you feel it is the right way to approach her – then we will drive to her home tomorrow and you will talk to the Princess, _and_ Ms. Thermopolis and, I am sure, things will be worked out…"

Sometimes – not infrequently – she was in awe of this man. She fought it with every fiber of her being, but at times like this, she couldn't help the overwhelming tidal wave of feelings that poured through her.

Feeling herself relax a little she came to a decision – she would see Amelia tomorrow; it was her best option.

He could see the decision being made and relief washing over her face, even as she cast her eyes downward, unbeknownst to him, focusing on their clasped hands, "thank you, Joseph," she said softly.

Smiling as he watched her, happy to have helped her, he didn't expect to feel her thumb softly brushing over his knuckles as his hand held hers, and he certainly never expected her left hand to raise towards him and gently cup his cheek.

His eyes barely had time to drift to their clasped hands before shooting up to her face in surprise. The look he was met with was another thing he was neither expecting nor prepared for.

Oh, man.

They were in trouble.

Crossing the line had certainly helped settle her doubts; but it was one thing to _slightly_ step over the line to offer encouragement, it was another entirely to acknowledge the flaring embers now aglow in her eyes, reflecting a longing that he knew was more than evident in his own.

Time froze for a palpable moment.

Heat radiated between their hands; it seared his skin at every point where her palm and fingers gently touched his cheek.

Two people with less self-control would have given in; but then they would have given in years ago. The Queen and her Head of Security, however, were experts at self-restraint – which is why while there was an almost tangible longing between them, there was also an almost physical hesitation as they sat facing each other.

It had been very long since Clarisse had felt this close to surrendering to her feelings – so long, in fact, that she wasn't sure if she remembered how to fight the urge to kiss him.

Joseph, too, was grappling with conflicting emotions. On one hand, he knew he was one false move away from breaking the evermore fragile constraints which defined their relationship; on the other, his instinct to protect her was relentlessly reminding him that to give in would be to add to her problems – the situation in Genovia was difficult, parliament was breathing down her neck, she was still mourning the loss of both her husband and her son, and things with the Princess were sure to get more difficult before they got any better. She did not need anything else on her plate; it wouldn't be fair.

So he made a decision before either of them took a step they weren't prepared for.

Desperately grasping onto the last shred of self-control he possessed, he slowly – gently – removed his hand from her grasp, his soft, tender gaze never leaving hers as his had travelled the distance to his face, softly grasping the hand that rested there.

Despite the momentary loss of contact, Clarisse never responded to him pulling away; never felt scared that he was backing out – the look in his eyes was so sincere, so warm, that she could do nothing but sit there, lost in the feeling so obviously present between them.

Slowly, carefully but surely, Joseph lifted her hand from his cheek, his eyes leaving hers only for a moment as he turned his face towards it, his lips pressing softly to her palm.

She gasped as she met his gaze once more, his hand softly turning hers in its grasp as his lips moved to her wrist.

If he planned to execute his retreat with any efficacy, he knew he could not linger – that last thread of restraint he was holding onto was beginning to wear very thin. So, a soft smile on his lips, he turned her hand in his once more, his lips this time coming to rest on the back of her hand in a kiss they had shared a thousand times. But this time, as he pulled away and stood from the couch, they both knew it was different.

"Good night, Clarisse," his voice was barely a whisper as he released her hand and swiftly exited the room.

Diplomats, world leaders, subjects, and staff had kissed the back of her hand time and again – a demonstration of deference to the Queen. But this time, as his lips lingered that extra fraction of a second, she understood that far more than representing his respect for the Queen, the kiss was an affirmation of love for the woman, a declaration of devotion and, above all, a promise.

**TBC**

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><p><em>Phew! That was long! I hope you enjoyed it, I will update ASAP and there should be a new chapter of RS up either tomorrow or Sunday. Please let me know what you thought!<em>

_Thanks,_

_CJS-DEPPendent_


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